


my body leaves no scar

by liondelbuchi (emcees)



Category: Taxi Driver (1976), The Godfather (1972 1974 1990)
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dry Humping, Dry Sex, Gun Kink, Guns, M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Smut, Trans Male Character, two of them actually, war buddies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-21
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-05-09 14:58:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14718278
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/emcees/pseuds/liondelbuchi
Summary: Michael and Travis meet again at a hotel.





	my body leaves no scar

**Author's Note:**

  * For [](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts).



> an installment in the self-indulgent universe where we ask the question, "what if michael corleone and travis bickle didn't totally suck and were trans men who both lived during the 40s and served in world war ii together?"
> 
> dedicated to the group chat who enables me to do such terrible things. also a shout-out to leonard cohen for my favorite song "true love leaves no traces," the source of my title.
> 
> don't try this at home, kids.

It’s nice out tonight, not so chilly that it makes Travis bury his chin into his neck, but breezy enough that the effect is invigorating. Travis walks with his head high, hands shoved into the pockets of his jacket, occasionally meeting the glances of passerbys, all with expressions that are too difficult to decipher in the split second that passes between them. Not that he cares too terribly about what they might be feeling tonight. He has other things to do.

He stops suddenly in front of a hotel. It’s nothing exquisite, just adequate enough to prevent anyone from shutting it down. The hotel is humble enough of itself, with no fancy signs displaying its name boisterously to the rest of the world. Travis pulls out a crumpled piece of paper from his pocket and opens it. Then he looks up at the hotel, swallows, and enters.

The front lobby is small. Behind the front desk is a bored looking worker, no older than 20, maybe. There’s a couch the color of salmon nearby. On its weathered cushions is a man, short in stature, with hair immaculately styled. He wears a suit, sleek and neatly fitted, too high fashion to blend into a place like this. Travis approaches him

“Mikey?” 

The man on the couch looks up. His lips, pressed into a thin line only moments before, twitch into a small grin. “Found your way, then.”

Elation floods Travis’ face. His eyes light up as he exclaims, “Geez, Mikey, I haven't seen you in years. How’d you find me?”

Michael glances down at his lap and adjusts his sleeve. “I have a room already,” he murmurs, “if you want to talk there.” He gets to his feet and nods towards this stairs. “This way.”

The worker at the front desk eyes the two of them as they pass. Michael hardly seems to notice. They climb two flights of stairs and make their way to room 305. As Michael unlocks the door, Travis says, “I’m a taxi driver, you know.”

“What?”

“You said something about me finding my way. I’m a taxi driver. I have to be good at that.”

The door unlocks. “So I’ve heard.” Michael ushers him in. His face is stern, no hint of the gentle friendliness that Travis had been familiar with a long time before.

Travis enters and turns on his heels as Michael shuts the door behind them. “You seem different, Mikey.”

“How so?”

“Grown up, maybe.”

Michael meets his gaze. “It’s not personal, if that’s what you’re wondering.”

“What happened, then?”

Michael’s jaw tenses for a moment. “Family matters. My brother died.”

“Shit,” Travis breathes. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s in the past is in the past.”

Travis tilts his head. “That’s not true.”

“What do you mean?”

“If that were true, you wouldn't have sent me a letter.”

That got him. The ghost of a smile wisps across his lips.

“I’ve been out of the country. It’s been a bit lonely since I returned.”

“So you send a letter to a war buddy you haven’t talked to in years?”

“Life works in strange ways.” The stony exterior that Michael wore suddenly becomes much more worn. His eyes grow heavy with exhaustion. “I wanted to see if you were still around New York.”

“Maybe if you took a taxi at night…”

The look on Michael’s face livens, now. The creases of his face soften. “I’m sorry I never wrote.”

“What’s in the past is in the past, right?”

There’s a moment of silence, oddly comfortable, like it could go on forever and neither would ever feel obligated to say anything. It’s the same kind of silence that often occured between them during the war. Silence was always preferable. 

Michael says, “Travis, come here.”

Travis crosses the floor and finds himself falling in between Michael’s open arms. His embrace is warm, reserved, like he’s almost too shy to show affection like that.

“I thought about you,” Mike murmurs into his shoulder.

Travis shuts his eyes and tightens his arms around Mike’s upper back.

“I just didn't know how to… with my family and all.” He tilts his head, so he’s facing Travis’ neck. “They've done a lot for me. My father, he’s done enough.”

“So why meet with me at all?”

“I told you, I’m lonely.” His fingers ball up against his back. “You're the only one who knows about me, Travis. Besides my family, I mean. I can’t tell anybody else.”

“What do you want me to do about that?”

Michael leans away from him. His mouth is ajar, just slightly parted, but nothing comes out. Michael’s eyes jump from Travis’ to his lips. “I don’t know.” He licks his lips. “Maybe this was a mistake.”

“Why would you say that?”

“Silly expectations.”

“Tell me what you expected.”

Michael raises his eyes. The well composed man in the lobby is gone, now. Instead, he’s desperate, pleading for something he can’t bring himself to say.

“Michael.”

Travis brings his hand to Michael’s cheek. The shorter man closes his eyes and exhales.

“That,” he murmurs at last.

Now Travis’ fingers trail down to his chin, tipping it up enough so that he can brush his lips against Michael's. A second passes, two seconds, three, their eyes lidded and chests heavy, until Michael leans forward again, pressing harder than the first time. Then again for a third time, but the reservation in the first two kisses dissipates into something needier, more urgent. Michael runs his fingers through Travis’ hair and meets him with an open mouth, causing Travis to squeeze his arms tightly around Michael’s shoulders. They stumble backwards together until Michael is against the wall, sighing through his nose in between wet kisses, growing more and more frenzied until Michael suddenly stops.

Travis stops to catch his breath while Michael brings his hands to his tie and loosens it. “Are you okay with this?” he asks, so quietly that Travis almost misses it.

“More than okay.”

He watches as Michael takes off his suit jacket and allows it to fall to the floor.

“Tell me if I do anything that you don’t like.”

Travis nods and greets Michael back into this arms. Without thinking, they make their way to the bed. Michael tugs his tie off and then cups his hands around Travis’ head as they fall back onto the mattress. Immediately, Travis surrenders to Michael, craning his head back as the other man leaves a trail of searing kisses down his neck. He slips his hands up underneath Travis’ shirt, but abruptly stops.

“You carry a piece?”

Travis props himself up on his elbows. “Yeah,” he says breathlessly.

“What do you do that for?”

“I’m not involved with anything if that’s what you’re hinting at.”

Michael makes a sound of acknowledgment. Then he sighs and falls to his knees at the side of the bed.

“What am I doing?” he starts. “It’s been years since we last saw each other. I hardly know you.”

“You know me.” Travis reaches forward for Michael’s hands and tugs him onto the bed gently. “You know I’m Travis and I know that you’re Michael. I know about your scars and now you know about mine.”

Michael’s brow furrows. “Yours?”

Travis shakes his jacket off and begins unbuttoning his shirt. When it swings open, Michael’s eyes widen. He reaches out towards his chest and runs his fingers across the thin, red scars, so tenderly that it felt apprehensive.

“When?”

“Few years ago. Now we’re caught up.”

Michael shakes his head. “No, we’re not.”

“What are you so scared of?”

“A lot has happened since the war.”

“So? You don’t have to know me to fuck me.”

Michael’s jaw grows taut again. “Is that what you want?”

“I thought that’s what you wanted.” Travis pecks him on the lips. “So you’re different now. You’re still the same old Mikey to me.”

He lets out a sigh and hangs his head. “Maybe you’re right.”

Travis shifts. “You stressed?”

“It’s only my father’s business.”

“Then stop stressing about it. It’s not your business, is it?” He nudges Michael’s chin up again. “C’mon, Mikey. We can fuck now and never see each other again.”

Michael pauses for a moment, and then nods. “Yeah,” he breathes. He starts to take off his vest. “Come here. Take your gun off.”

Travis obliges him. No sooner had he taken it off than Michael is kissing him again, deep, warm, causing every muscle in Travis’ body to seize and then release with the hitch in his breath. He holds back a groan as Michael moves down his torso. His lips are hot wax against his bare skin, bringing every inch to life, vivid, euphoric, craving the next kiss.

He lets Michael unhook his belt, unbutton his pants, take off his shoes, his socks, until he’s left in only his boxers. When Michael’s fingertips slide across he waistline of his boxers, he sucks in a loud breath.

“Is this okay?” he hears him murmur.

“It’s okay, it’s okay.”

He lifts his hips so Michael can slide them off. “You’re perfect,” Michael murmurs into his thigh. “Perfect.”

Travis gasps as he feels Michael’s tongue prod between his legs. It’s impossible to hold back a moan now. Michael sinks his fingers into Travis’ thighs as he arches his back.

“Fuck, Mikey,” he groans. “Where’d you get -- ah! -- so good?”

“I told you a lot happens in five years.” His voice is low but light with mirth. When he rolls his tongue against him again, Travis bites hard into his lower lip, 

“Mike,” he chokes. “Shit, don’t stop that.”

He tries his hardest not to squirm too much, stomach bouncing like a rope pulled quickly with every shallow breath. Michael’s hair comes undone in Travis’ hands, its perfect sculpt becoming more and more nest-like the more flustered Travis became. He’s unsure if he’s thrusting his hips forward or not, but god, Michael’s lips on him, Michael’s tongue against him, Michael’s fingers gripping into him -- Jesus Christ, it felt fucking amazing.

He’s on the cusp now. It’s swelling in his belly, building in his mind, making his fingertips vibrate in anticipation, motivating throaty grunts and moans. He’s so fucking close now but Michael stops without warning.

“What are you doing?” he chokes out. He peeks open an eye to see Michael reaching for the gun on the floor.

“Is this loaded?”

“Don’t remember.”

Michael fumbles with it until the magazine comes out in his hand. He sets it on the floor and turns back. There’s a faint smile on his face as he takes the muzzle and runs it up Travis’ leg. “Tell me when to stop,” he says. Before Travis can respond, Michael’s pointer finger is plunged inside of him. He sucks in when Michael strokes his finger against Travis’ inner wall. Then there’s a second finger, both rubbing against the exact area that drives Travis absolutely insane. He’s certain, now, that his hips are rocking forward, moving like they have a mind of their own. Michael’s name tumbles out of his mouth, each one more urgent than the last, longer, more desperate.

When Michael stops, he sticks his fingers in his mouth and groans happily. “I love the way you taste,” he breathes.

_ Taste me again _ , Travis’ mind screams, but he’s too weak to get anything out. Instead, he watches as Michael brings the gun to his lips, spits on the barrel, and wipes it down with the bed sheet. Then Michael’s lips are back on him, sucking at him, tongue slipping through his folds. Travis’ body wracks with ecstacy, hands grabbing at the bed sheets, so enveloped in the sensation that he nearly misses Michael sliding something inside of him.

“Is this okay?” Michael asks. Travis only groans in response.

The barrel of the gun slowly moves in and out, in and out, in rhythm with Michael’s tongue. Travis digs his heels into the mattress and lets out a strangled, “Mikey.” He tilts his head back and groans. “Just like that Mikey, oh, fuck.”

There’s that swelling again, a ball of wild energy growing larger and larger, egged on by Michael’s movements. Travis’ hair is damp with sweat as he swears and moans with enough volume that his chest vibrates.

“Come on, baby,” Michael murmurs. “Come on.”

The tempo of the barrel increases. This seems absolutely insane, and yet Travis feels like he’s going to lose his mind. The pressure is almost too much for him.

“Come for me, Travis.”

How Michael has a steady grip on him, he’ll never know. His hips are like waves, ebbing and flowing during high tide. He arches into Michael’s mouth, pushes onto the barrel of the gun to a point where it hurts. But it’s all so exhilarating, it feels so  _ right. _

Michael pauses every so often to press kisses into his thigh. “Come, come, come.”

Finally the ball bursts, taking over Travis’ entire body in a wave of the most intense relief he’s ever experienced. His body convulses, every muscle contracting over and over, making him gasp for air. “Mother _ fucker _ ,” he breathes. His arms are trembling, his legs are weak with exhaustion. “Jesus, Mikey.”

Michael is quick to move. He wipes the gun off on the blankets and sets it down on the floor before quickly taking off his pants and throwing them aside. He rejoins Travis on the bed, taking him in his arms and kissing his cheek with care. “You did great,” he whispers. He kisses him again. “You did perfect.”

His kisses provoke Travis back into the excited state that had enshrouded him just moments before. He rolls over so he can meet Michael with an open mouth. Within seconds they’re kissing passionately, just as intense as they had when they started. Travis reaches down and cups his hand between Michael’s thighs. He groans softly. His briefs are damp.

“Let me see you,” Travis murmurs.

Michael pauses, exhales, and then begins to unbutton his shirt. Travis watches with baited breath as he peels it off, and then takes off his undershirt. The same thin, pink scars stretch across his chest, a bit more faded than Travis’. Travis grabs him and pulls Michael down on top of him, mouths crashing together, breaths intermingling. Michael rolls his hips against Travis’ leg. He moans softly.

“Go on,” Travis mutters against his cheek.

He listens, thrusting his hips forward again on his thigh. He does it again, and again, until he’s found a steady rhythm. Michael repositions himself, holding onto Travis’ shoulders as he rocks himself. A hum of approval spills from his throat. When he presses down harder, his mouth falls open.

“You like that?”

“I love it,” Michael gasps. He increases the speed of his thrusts. “ _ Fuck _ .”

Travis’ arms fall down onto Michael's ass. He rocks his hips along with Michael, making him shriek with pleasure, head rolling forward on his shoulders.

“Fuck me, Mikey,” Travis says. “Fuck me.”

He’s like a machine, moving fast. His long, quiet groans are like a song to Travis, punctuated by his thrusts against Travis’ thigh.

“Travis,” he huffs, “fuck, I wanted you so bad…”

Michael is sitting fully erect now, rubbing himself against Travis like his life depends on it. Travis can feel how wet he is underneath his briefs, contemplating for a moment whether or not he should flip Michael over and toy with him until he’s shouting, but Michael’s groove is too in place. Travis places his hands around his waist and moves with him.

The face of the shorter man is a rosy color, now, hair falling out of place and in front of his eyes. “Mm,” he moans in between panting, “I’m going to come.”

“Come, Mikey.”

His gasps for air overwhelm the sound of the bed springs bouncing up and down with Michael. “Yes, yes, yes, yes,” he breathes quickly. And then he comes, hips jutting forward, one last sigh coming from him. He clenches onto Travis’ leg as he rides out the bliss; and then, depleted, he falls forward onto the bed.

“Jesus Christ,” he says into the mattress. He turns his head, allowing Travis to see how red his cheeks are, how drained his eyes are. “I haven’t…” Michael swallows. “Not in a long time.”

“See? You didn’t need to know me to fuck me.”

Michael rests on his side and feathers his hair back with one hand. “Maybe it was an overreaction.”

“Maybe? Telling your old war buddy you don’t know him? Come closer.”

Michael leans forward and meets Travis with a tender kiss.

“There you go,” Travis says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

“Not at all.”

“Then maybe we can do it again.”

The look on Michael’s face twitches.

“I have your address, now,” Travis continues. “You can’t hide.”

“I guess you do now.” There it is again, the flicker of a Michael Corleone smile. “I’ll write you again.”

“That’s what you said last time.”

“No, I mean I’ll write you again.” He wraps his hand around Travis’. “I mean it.”

Michael nestles into Travis, head against his collarbone, breath warm against his skin. Travis knows the conversation is over, now. There’s no use in questioning Mike if he really meant is or not.

Travis strokes his hand through Michael’s hair as the latter dozes off. A grin settles onto his face. He doesn’t need to ask Michael to follow through, he thinks. He knows Michael will write again. There isn’t an inch of his entire being that had any doubt about it.


End file.
